Snow White
by Cede-Lede
Summary: River doesn't want to be Simon's pin cushion anymore.


Disclaimer: I don't claim River but man I wish I could.

* * *

There was a tree growing out of Simon's examination chair. A bird chirped and twittered from one of the branches, pausing to make his contribution to fertilization between two corresponding notes. Simon would not be pleased. A small fawn, still wobbly on his hooves, stumbled into the infirmary to hear the bluejay's song as two rabbits did what rabbits did best on the far counter.

Tap. Tap.

River's eyes lazily followed the sound. Simon, unaware of nature's concerto, prepared her medication for the day. She swung her legs, adding a drum to the beat as her heels hit the cabinet underneath her. Four baby rabbits played a game of chance through her moving limbs.

The needle almost pierced her skin but for a cold clammy hand in its path.

"I don't want to be your pin cushion."

"_Mei mei." _

So much emotion in two small insignificant syllables. Hurt, pity, remorse. Simon always displayed the correct emotion for the proper situation. She could not even express what she wanted without being offensive.

"Please."

One syllable that was right. It connected, synapse to synapse to synapse to lungs to throat to mouth to lips.

He held her deathly _deadly_ hand as if it did not appall him.

"_Mei mei_, you know I can't. You need your medication. It makes you better."

Said the man with a worm crawling in his ear canal.

Frustrated tears leaked from overused ducts. "You cannot see the forest for the trees!"

"I know the side effects have been bad. I haven't perfected the dosage. I'm sorry. Just give me more time."

"Simon's newest experiment. Put me under your microscope. Examine the bits that come as they choke me. Maybe you'll find what you need inside!"

Pushing him away, River ran to her room ignoring the scratches on her skin from imaginary limbs.

He found her. Later. Playing a never ending game of hide and seek but she somehow loses anyway.

"We can try it. For a little while. But you have to come off your meds gradually. Do you understand?"

She comprehended perfectly. Her mouth never did. So she took the safest course of action and hugged him. He understood.

Under the medicines, her world was a fog. Blurs of faces cut down the middle. One side said yes, the other no like some perverted version of the symbol's figures of conscience perched on shoulders. Other times, her stomach was a carnival and magma flowed through her veins. She'd pray for unconsciousness only to have nightmares within nightmares of men who played with needles and men without souls. Was it possible to die of fear in one's bed? Sometimes River thought so.

But now ...even with the slightest reduction of chemical influence, there were no dwarves mysteriously sifting through the cargo, no snow falling from a non-existant troposphere. On the third day, Kaylee played the games of girls with her. On the fifth, she read Mal's entire collection of poetry. On the nineth, Wash's dinosaurs stopped talking back.

And today, Jayne had accepted her hand for a dance. She twirled and dipped and laughed, surprised but somehow not at Jayne's proficiency of movement. River was sure there must be something, but she could not think of a happier moment in time.

Only...

The violin ran the grand piano through and what was once beautiful turned to angry clashes of cymbals and odaiko drums. She was not in Jayne's arms but on them. His face leaked red and something in her right arm felt wrong.

A bee stung her in the back and the curtain fell.

River awoke with her arm imprisoned in plastor and a tired _ge ge_ by her bed.

"Was I bad?"

Simon's smile was pained as he pet her hair. _I am Jack's psychotic house cat._

"No, River. Just confused."

Worry and anger pounded her from many sides and she slowly realized why. Clarity shined it's light upon her. Girly games had been a knife against her lips for stain. The Captain's books were dissected and used for parts. Wash's dinosaurs had been hidden from her sight. And in Jayne's dance, she was not a girl. Just a weapon without a safety.

Her hands of betrayal shook as they reached up to pull the long mane of her lion's head. _Haven't any courage. I even scare myself._

"Bad little girl. Gotta put a bullet in her. Afraid. Afraid. Not a girl, just a facade."

"_Mei mei, _please."

Simon slowly pulled her hands out of her hair, one finger at a time. Steam rose from her skin as her blood burned. Today would be a sick day. Tears leaked from their faucet, evaporating in hisses against the fires of her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," whispered hoarsely from her throat.

His hands squeezed hers, but she couldn't remember what that was supposed to mean. How was he not aflame at her touch?

"It's not your fault. This is never your fault."

"_But now we know_."

It'd been what he was thinking and didn't say. People never finished their sentences, always holding kernels for themselves. Simon was right. She hated when he was right. The needles made her sick, made her foggy, but they didn't make her see things. They made her aware the things she saw weren't really there.

So as the bits came up, she didn't apologize to the little rabbit that was victimized by circumstance and unfortunate location. She simply turned away and waited for the nightmares to come.


End file.
